Made Man
by TigerDriver
Summary: Here's a series of vignettes that explore Rocket's past, why he is angry a lot, and how he finally gets his head around being part of a team. Rated T for language and mild violence


**Made Man**

**…_I didn't ask to get made… _**

Well, I didn't, but I was, so what's it to ya? What the fuck are you lookin' at anyway?

Keep it up, tough guy, and I'll put a hole in you I can fly a pod through. You think you're funny, dontcha? Look at the _rodent_. Look at the _vermin_. We used to _roast your kind_ back home.

Ha. Ha. _Ha_!

Don't tell me to calm down because I'm drunk. I'm still fucking standing, ain't I? One more word and I will shoot you right here. Right. Here. I will end you. I ain't gonna wait til this is over.

Know what? On my worst day I'm still twice as good as you'll ever be, ya know why? Because they _made_ me that way. Go ahead and laugh about that. Get your fuckin' hand off me! I'm movin' out.

Think I've got "anger issues"? A "bad attitude"? Yeah? Lemme tell you about rage, the kind that lives in a thousand flashbacks.

**…_torn apart and put back together over and over…_**

You got no idea what it was like. None! But _I_ remember it. I _remember_ every last bit of it from the first time I woke up as me. What a great thing they _made_, that kind of memory. I don't want any of those memories. They _all_ hurt. Booze? Sure, dumbass, coz I can forget some of it for a while. Maybe feel a little shitty tomorrow, but that's nothin' next to how it felt when I was getting built, what that was like.

I _know_ what I am. I know what cybernetic augmentation is. I know what genetic manipulation is. I know what cognitive implantation is. I know what vat-grown is. Yeah, you heard me, that's where _I_ came from. Read my file, hacked into it when they thought I was learning astronavigation. So yeah, lemme tell ya how that _felt_, see if you still think it's _funny_.

There was this one tiny little moment of innocence, at the start, before I learned about the light and the dark. I woke up in the light, a white room, first time out of the vat. Weird smells and sounds, didn't know what to make of it, but wasn't afraid, just curious. There were shapes moving around, and one of 'em picked me up and put me my cell for the first time. Door closed. Dark. Time went by, broken up by the cell opening, getting food, maybe picked up and examined. It wasn't bad, kinda boring really, but not bad. Yet.

Then one time the door opened, and there was the voice for the first time. No face to go with it, all covered up. I just met my first real mechanic. There was a sting in my leg, I sat up and went right over backwards, totally out of it. Weird images and noises, then feeling something going on with my arms. Then the dark. I woke up, that first time, face flat on the floor, into the burning agony of bone grafts and implants. My arms were on fire, I couldn't move my hands, couldn't stand, flopped back into a corner, trying to get away. Couldn't escape the pain. There was a new smell now, from the stuff seeping out of the cuts on my arms. I tried to lick the cuts, seemed like the thing to do, but that made it hurt more. All I could do was lay there and cry and take the pain. That's when I learned what blood, my blood, tastes like, what fear is all about. And that's how it all started.

The light was where the changes happened. The dark was where I learned to live with myself, live with the changes.

You know the dark has a smell? It does. Smells like blood and shit and fear.

You know the light has a sound? Sounds like cold and machines and the voice.

You think they got me right the first time? _Hah!_

More like the twentieth time, or maybe I stopped counting after twenty because it didn't matter any more. Found out later there really was a plan for making me, but sometimes the steps didn't work out right. So they'd go back and try again, until they got what they wanted.

The light.

The dark.

The pain.

Wondering what was new this time. Head hurts, but hey, I can see better, not bad. Why is everything so LOUD now? What'd you do to my legs? My feet aren't where they were the last time and it _hurts so damn bad _now! Lying there in your own blood and shit because it hurt too much to do anything else. Eyes watering, panting, hurting so I couldn't move, tryin' to figure out why this was happening to me.

I found a new thing, lying there in the dark. It's like all the helplessness and fear boiled down into a jagged little rock in the back of my skull. There's a name for that. It's called rage. It's the only thing I had that was mine. I couldn't even claim my body, because they'd come and do whatever they wanted to it. So I lay there in the dark and let my rage grow. Nurtured it. Caressed it. Waiting for the cell door to open, waiting find out what's next, out there in the light.

The long chain of lights and darks, scraping down a rusty blade of pain. Why count 'em anymore? Know what despair is? I'll show ya next time we have a few spare years. Wanna feel what it's like, to know what's coming and have no escape, to lie there and hurt and wait for the next time they come to change you?

Ya gotta keep your mind busy or you'll really lose it. Ya do things like run your fingers over every picobule of your cell, so you have it completely memorized, every texture in the metal plate, every bit of every weld, every little nick in the floor. Always start at the lower left by the door hinge, up then down, over and over until you cover the whole thing. And then you do it again, just to take comfort in the fact that none of that has changed since you last checked. Each time they changed me, I'd have to start that over, coz I hadda learn how everything felt different after the change. When it hurt too much move, you do things like count your teeth with your tongue, then count the points on your teeth, then count the grooves in your teeth, then picture what it's like to crawl through the mountains and valleys of your teeth, just to give your mind something to do so you don't go nuts.

And then you realize that you probably are nuts, ain't nothin' normal here, but it doesn't matter coz they'll just come and change you again, move the crazy around a little bit, and then you'll have some new part to get used to until they come and change you again. And again. And again. And again, world without end.

_That_ is despair, my friend. Despair and fear, yeah, they'll change your attitude just a little bit. Did I mention I hate being afraid? Hate it. It means you're weak. A mark.

Every time I got touched it meant a change was coming. I hated being touched. It wasn't gentle, either, they'd pick me up by the back of my neck and my tail, stretch me out like that, and I couldn't do anything. I tried to fight anyway, usually got zapped a couple a times for good measure. Stretched out, zapped and carried over to the surgical processors that did all the work. Tied down, still fightin'. The mechanics learned that I wasn't messing around when I finally landed a good bite on that main dude, sank my teeth right into his hand, through that suit and everything. His blood didn't taste like mine at all. Weird. Course, I paid for it. He threw me across the room into the wall and his partner got me with a stun baton before I could get up. Hurt more than usual after that trip to the light. No pain meds, that time. Fuckers. Being touched means the pain is coming, so stay offa me.

I learned what the voice was saying. Nothing else to do but listen, sometimes, when they thought I was stoned but the drugs had wore off, lying there strapped down in the light. I hear you, and I see you. My secret. I figured out what the shapes on the screens meant. It was me. Old parts of me, new parts of me, and the hell of expectation about what's comin'. Yeah, I see you, motherfucker. Gimme half a chance, and I will find my way outta here. Gone.

The dark. Again.

Throat hurt after the latest trip into the light. I could make a sound, a new one, a voice of my own. It wasn't pretty like it is now. It was raspy and ugly and it hurt, but it sounded like me, like how I felt. I tried it out, really let that voice go, and it was the sound of my rage. All the rage and pain and fear exploded out of me like a nova bomb. I kept it up even after I tasted blood, felt it running down my neck, and my new voice got weaker and weaker and my throat hurt more and more. What a release! I owned that awful voice, and it was mine, all _mine_, along with my rage. It was too much rage, turned out, because then there were the footsteps that always brought the light coming toward my cell, door opened

and I was out! Better now than never! See ya, suckers! Run! Scrambling and jumping up on the machines, almost free! Found out how a neural immobilizer worked, right then. Lost six teeth when I faceplanted on the floor from up on top of a cabinet. I got a real good look at all six of 'em, scattered on the floor in front of my nose. Carried by a leg back to

the dark, tasted more blood now, hacking it up, throat on fire, blood drying on my neck and face, fur sticky and matted, couldn't move, everything was pins and needles, holes in my jaw aching

and the voice through the door: _You're fast as a rocket, little guy._

Rocket.

Didn't know what that was just yet, but if it was fast then it'd get me the hell away from there. Beat what they always called me: 89P13. That's not a name. That's a thing. I'm not a thing, pal, I'm _me_.

Rocket.

I like it.

Don't ever call me "little guy" again, hear?

**…_some little monster…_**

They put my teeth back, different ones. That hurt, too, but I could eat again, and I had something new to explore in the down time. It was the first time I tried to get out. Wasn't the last, either, but it always ended the same way, caught and tossed back in my cell with some part that needed fixing.

Finally ran out of things to do to me. So there I was, the perfect Rocket. Not as much fear since the changes and the pain stopped. I got used to the fact that I got parts that stick out in a bunch of places. Don't worry, you'll get used to it, too. If ya don't, I'll shoot your ass for staring at me.

I spent more time in the light than the dark, learning all kinds of shit. I learned to talk pretty good. Read, too, and do math. It was easy. The games started, or should I say "cognitive kinesthetic patterning." Take this apart and put it back together. Tactics. Fly. Shoot. Flying is almost as fun as shooting things. I like big guns and I cannot lie.

Out of all that, nothing was better than building things. I loved that shit. Still do. It's like, I touch it and I can see the whole thing in my head, and then I can put it together. That picture in my mind is the best, more detail than you can imagine. I mean, I see it clear as day, then I just gotta find what I need to build it. Whaddya want? Computer? Gun? Bomb? Ship? Battle plan? Piece a cake, baby. These hands are the best: I can make anything. I'm better at it than you, too. Making things is great, it's relaxing, gives me something to focus on instead of these shitty memories.

**…_fry, little man…_**

Lot of things I've met have this deal about meeting their maker. Seriously. Lemme tell ya, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Mechanics did all of the work on me, made me. I never wanna see those fuckers ever again, unless it's in my sights. An' no, they wasn't _doctors_. Docs are least _supposed_ to do good, and the unbent ones'll put you back together after a scrap, no questions. The mechanics? They were working on a _project_ called 89P13. They didn't give a shit about _me_, as long as the project was working right. There was a different set of mechanics that did all of my training. They didn't put up with any shit, but they didn't change me anymore, either.

Those mechanics had no compunctions about whacking me with a stun baton right between the shoulder blades if I got out of line. That shit hurt, made every bit of metal in my body burn like lightning. I learned real fast to play along, nod and smile, tell 'em what they wanted to hear, do good with the training. Learned some useful skills. All that time, man, I'm plotting, waiting. My time will come, you bet.

There was one of the mechanics that worked with me who would talk to me sometimes. Wasn't supposed to, but he did. So I asked him, one day on the weapons range, why the fuck am I here? What am I? Why did you do this to me? He thought that was pretty funny. I shot him. Didn't think twice. I don't think I'm funny at all. None of this is funny. But I did think it was funny that I figured out how to bypass the safety interlocks on the ordnance. Good information, in case of emergency, understand?

So I shot him, then I ran around all distraught, made it look good. Got the safety on that ion cannon retweaked just in time, before I got zapped and tossed back in my cell. They weren't exactly gentle, y'know? Pretty pissed off that one of their own got roached by a whatever I am. Made a big deal of it, asked me a lot of questions. I'd learned how to keep a secret earlier, so I didn't tell 'em squat, even when the probes came out. Tried to get me to show 'em what I did to the cannon, so I fiddled around with it for a while and broke it. Eventually they said it was an unexplained weapons malfunction, but none of the mechanics laughed around me after that. Guess they can learn, too.

I found out there were more like me with, quote, enhanced cybernetic musculoskeletal system and genetic neurologic augmentation, unquote. Okay, they weren't exactly like me, but other fur-bodies. Turns out we were made for a purpose. There was some crazy shit that went down because of that. I got out, and caused some righteous mayhem along the way. Went freelance. Some more shit went down, and here we are. Met up with my close personal friend and business associate, too.

**…_some stupid thing…_**

You'd think things would be easy, on the outside, being a skilled and talented individual such as myself.

Wrong!

Everything else looks at me like I'm a freak because I've got fur, because I'm short, because I'm smart. Dunno what you've got where you're from that looks like me, Jack, but I guarantee you I got it beat. It ain't _me_, get it? But no, all you skin jobs treat me with contempt. Or pity. Or laughs. Or all of the above, fuck you very much.

It's not that funny anymore when I get your ass out of a jam, is it? You ain't laughing when I show you the answer that's been right in front of your face all along, huh? How 'bout when I cash in a big score? Then you get all jealous, and I get I big ration of shit from you. Maybe take a beating, if I don't get you first. Remember what I said about big guns?

I can out shoot, out fly, out think _any_ of you. Got all _I _need right between these ears. Still wonder why I've got a "bad attitude"? What the fuck do you know about a bad attitude? Why would I let any of you jerks get close? So you can have an easy laugh? Hah. Guess again. I got your snickers right here, pal. Stay out of my way if you know what's good for you.

Think I don't have any friends? Screw you, I got all I need. You are all just a means to an end, see?

**…_ain't no thing like me 'cept me…_**

A "rak-koon"? I think you got stun-brain, humie. Just shut up and stop making yourself look stupid. It's embarrassing.

You did just kick me in the back, didn'tcha? Just wait, Mister Guard. Oh, yeah, just wait. I will make sure you see it coming, so you get time to think about it. Remember, I never forget.

And _you're_ looking at me with _pity_? Because you see what they did? Screw you, my skeleton sticks out here an' there but it works just fine, better'n yours. I will jam your pity so far down your throat your guts won't know what hit them. You'll be shittin' pity for a week. You're just another paycheck to me. I promise you, I will cash you in. Cha-ching. You'll see what pity is all about.

Think this is my first time in a slam, huh? Yeah, well, don't blink or you'll miss me leaving. That's right, just passin' through. Nah, don't worry, you're coming along and then we're going to get our forty thousand. And maybe we can ditch the witch here. She is bad news, and everybody knows it. So don't go all soft on that.

First off, we gotta mark some territory in here.

**…_four billion units…_**

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

I am going to buy a nice big place after all, maybe a whole damn planet. Retire, while I still got some years left. Find a good spot for the tree, too. Listen to the sound of that cut: _one bill-yun_ _yoo-nitz_. Maybe it was a good idea not to let that whacko kill her. I just figured you went soft. Got weak. Either way, I'm stuck with you clowns for now.

Awright. I got a plan to get outta here. Just do what I tell ya and it'll be fine. Look here, don't question me ever again. Relax. _What_? Oh, sure, now we'll do it all ass-backwards instead of in order.

Shit. I hate improvising. Means you didn't have your act together in the first place.

**…_that is not a plan…_**

Were you asleep at the controls just now? Did you miss how we got our asses kicked? How you had to get the guy who put a price on your head to save your sorry skin? Sheesh! Oh, yeah, here it comes, the "do the right thing" speech blah blah blah. Fine, I've heard it before.

Why the hell am I being persuaded by this crap this time? Huh, gotta think on that a sec. Guess it's because we can either stop this now or spend the rest of our lives running. Fuck _that_. I'm not running. We all gotta die sometime, so maybe, just maybe, we can take that maniac with us.

But brother, your plan needs some work. Here. Watch this, you idiot. It's simple. We do this, they do that, we do this other thing, and badabing, we win. Okay, there's a few more steps to it than that, but you get the idea. Go make your call.

When this is over, if I'm alive, I still want my fucking money. I got plans.

**…_hang on…_**

Well, crap. We are really in it deep now. I knew we should've hauled ass when we had the chance. Every last bit of instinct was saying beat feet, but oh, no, we didn't. So what, too late. We got most of the dive-bombers. Oh, man, there goes the barricade, and that thing is headed down here. Damn, they're all inside still and the plan's not working. Wasn't the greatest plan, too much improv, but it was the best we had.

Fuck it. I always gotta do everything myself. Here I come, guys. You better duck, because I'm comin' in hot, ready or not. Know this is a one-way ticket, but I got no choice. Who else is gonna do this?

That thing is huge, and getting bigger by the second. I'm gonna make that whack-job pay for getting me killed. I find my voice again, the old one from the first time, and a lifetime of buried rage comes boiling out of my hind-brain in one long howl. I ride my sound right into the heart of the ship.

I see everything with this unreal clarity, like time stopped: that rat bastard, the helmsmen, my team, and I aim right for all of them. My wings slash through the helmsmen and my nose flattens that maniac and my friends are somehow diving out the way and I'm spinning sliding crashing head-hitting red-seeing.

Voice lost. Rage gone.

The dark boils in all around me.

The dark, waiting for me all this time, welcome home. Nice ta see ya again, how you doin'?

All gone quiet.

I'm being carried. Someone's definitely holding me, I can feel hands. They're gentle, kind, not mean. Far out. That's not what I expected death to be like at all, always thought it would be harsh and hurt a lot, just like life. I'm just gonna rest a few seconds, then we'll get back to it. Just a few seconds…

Awake. The light. No, not one. Hundreds. Man, I love it when he does that. Bet you knuckleheads didn't know he had that in him, and…hang on. Lemme up, you idiot. I'm not on the deck, I'm floating on a sea of leaves. It hits me, what it means, the branches, how we're all entwined. I know I can't talk him out of it, but I try anyway. There's something wrong with my eyes, gone all watery so I can't see good. He brushes my face in a way that I've never been touched before. I hear his words, and I'm speechless. Can ya believe it?

I feel the ship nosing over, speeding up, falling towards the ground. We're gonna find out what death is all about real soon.

**…_take my hand…_**

Come on…keep him busy for a few more seconds…almost there…and _boom_…buh-bye…

What're you _doing_? Catch it, get it, don't let it fall! Wow! The power in that thing is exhilarating, boiling all around us. It _wants_ us to touch it, give into it, it's intoxicating, the best drug ever invented. But it's so sly, it wants to take you apart, too. It _is_ taking you apart, but wait, she's taking some of it too, and now the tough guy's taking a part of it. I feel your thoughts burning into me, reaching out and

_I can just reach you and make the connection and I see all of us now the infinite knowledge of all our hopes and fears and losses and loves and desires and needs and you can see all of me and I've never been this wide open and don't look lemme go and…it's…_working.

That power is coming under control, our control, it wants to be _used_, it wants a _master_. We're together, all carrying a part, feeding on it while it's feeding on us. It has a purpose. We're killing him, like crushing a bug. It's easy.

Then it's gone, bottled up again.

I can barely breathe. I just saw so much of everything.

Holy shit, put that fuckin' thing somewhere so no one ever finds it. That rock is terrifying, and I don't scare easy.

So, gang, I gotta know why you didn't just let me go after you saw into me. Nah, never mind. It's just that I never felt, y'know, needed like that before, like a part of a whole.

Got a bunch of things to sort out when I get a little peace and quiet someday.

**…_boo hoo hoo…_**

Everybody's got dead people. Now I got another one, but this one meant a lot. I just don't…I can't help it. All the anger and hurt and fear is coming out and I can't stop it, I can't keep it buried. There's so much that it feels like it'll never end. I can feel the dark waiting for me, footsteps going back to a cell. A different flavor of despair, I can't fight it, just let it come get me, I got nothing left.

I'm all alone again.

Dammit! I don't cry. I don't hurt that way coz I cut all that off a long time ago. Get a grip on yourself, Rocket! You're bein' _weak_, and that's not…huh?

Great. Go sit somewhere else. Fine, don't. I know what I said about your wife and kid. Just say it and get it over with and leave me alone. Go ahead and rub my face in it. Have another laugh on me. Don't let the door hit ya on the way out.

What the _hell_?

Don't you _touch_ me you _freak_ coz I _swear_ I don't need your _pity_ I'm not your _pet_ and…what?

Your wife and child.

You…understand. Sure. But, why are you here?

Everybody's got dead people. Maybe it's okay to cry for them after all, to remember them, to let someone share that burden for a bit.

I never thought of that before.

I miss my friend.

**…_we are…_**

Let's get outta here. Stir up some trouble. Make some scratch. You're still a buncha jackasses, but we're in it together now. What a novel situation we have here.

Guess what else? That little twig can dance.

Who knew?

**Author's Note: This story is a series of vignettes about Rocket's experiences, and how his world view shifts over the course of the movie. It's mostly an internal dialog, but I can see him laying out the story of his time with the mechanics to an interested (and respectful) listener after a few drinks. The story started out around 1000 words, and then acquired a life of its own. Rocket has a lot on his mind, turns out.**

**Comments and reviews are welcome. This story takes place in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, so that's what I used as canon. "Made Man" is literal (duh) and figurative, in the sense of joining a crew (a la "Goodfellas"). In the grand MS tradition, there are Easter eggs in the story, movie refs and lyrics. PM me if you want the list. As always, I do not own any of the characters, nor am I making any kind of money off of this story.**

**Thanks to Brise for beta reads and edits. Thanks to you for reading it!**


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